


Want

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Other, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley wants. He wants so much that it hurts.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 115





	Want

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this one, actually, but I wrote it so I'm gonna post it. Enjoy!
> 
> TW: The Crucifixion is mentioned, it's not super graphic but it's there. Also mention of eating a small, cute historical delicacy.

Crowley wants.

Crowley has known want all his life, was forged from it in the searing heat of sulphur and the agony of unanswered questions, and for a long time he has wanted something he fears he cannot have. He has wanted Aziraphale, and now - watching his sworn enemy haggling good-naturedly with a food vendor on the outskirts of Rome - he realises  _ why _ . He wants the angel because he  _ loves  _ him, because he wants to make him happy, and he can’t imagine being happy without him. He wants Aziraphale so much that it  _ hurts.  _

He’s never felt like that before. He doesn’t like it.

He makes a careful circle around the area where Aziraphale is making his purchase before he approaches. He doesn’t want Heaven or Hell noticing their interaction and causing trouble. Perhaps, deep down, he is looking for a reason not to approach Aziraphale at all; he doesn’t want this to go badly, and if he doesn’t try, he can’t fail. But he wants to spend time with Aziraphale, and if he doesn’t try, he’ll never manage it. He has made successful approaches before; he has sidled up to Aziraphale at various events when they were both working, when Aziraphale has been overseeing Heaven’s atrocities and Crowley has managed to distract him for a few words of civil conversation. He can do this.

“Angel,” he greets him, melting out of the shadow of a wall as Aziraphale leaves the food stall. Aziraphale jumps, but recovers himself quickly when he realises who it is.

“Crawley,” he says, and then, before Crowley can tell him that actually, he’s been trying something different in the name department, he catches him off-guard by holding out his purchase. “Care for a stuffed dormouse?”

Crowley frowns; is that supposed to be a dig at him, a reference to his snakelike essence? He can’t decide whether to be insulted or not, so he ignores it entirely and blunders on.

“Are you busy?”

“No- wait, why? Have you done something I should be busy with?” It’s Aziraphale’s turn to look suspicious, though he’s obviously not worried enough to stop picking at his food. Crowley does his best not to watch, certain that Aziraphale will see the hunger in his eyes. He ought to find some way of covering them, really. They give him away every time.

“No. I, er, I just wondered if you wanted to…” He should have thought about this in advance; he doesn’t know what excuse to make, what he could possibly suggest they do together.  _ Think, Crowley. _ Aziraphale is an angel; angels are Heaven’s soldiers. They like rules, and ruthless violence, and glorious victories. “I wondered if you wanted to see a gladiator fight with me.”

Aziraphale hesitates, obviously torn, and Crowley thinks  _ yes, I baited that trap well _ , and then he remembers that it’s not a trap at all.

“Er… no, thank you, if it’s all the same to you, I… oh, what are you doing, you… you foul fiend! I shan’t be distracted from my duty!” Aziraphale turns on his heel and begins to walk away, but he only takes a few steps before stopping. “Oh,  _ do  _ take care.” And then he’s off again, and Crowley can’t bear to try to follow him.

He stands alone in the middle of the street until he’s almost run over by a horse and cart, and then he walks away in the opposite direction to the road Aziraphale took. He can’t have what he wants, and that’s fine.

It’s fine.

He should have known better than to think an angel would ever fraternise with him, anyway. Wanting makes you blind, sometimes - and yet Crowley  _ saw _ the dangers. He  _ knew  _ Aziraphale would probably reject his company. He tried anyway, because he had to, and he didn’t get what he wanted, and that’s fine.

He leaves Rome entirely, for a while.

* * *

The next time Crowley sees Aziraphale, it’s at the crucifixion of a man Crowley once knew. It’s been a hundred years since their meeting in Rome, and now he wonders if he should approach the angel at all. He won’t be welcomed, he knows that. Still, he might as well get it over with.

Aziraphale greets him as if nothing is wrong, so Crowley doesn’t mention what happened before; instead, he tells Aziraphale his new name, and they talk about the man on the cross for a while. Crowley sees Aziraphale wince as the condemned men are nailed to the wooden crossbeams, hauled upright, and left to die, and he’s puzzled. Surely this is the sort of thing angels whole-heartedly approve of? It’s brutal, it’s a horrendous punishment for sinners and criminals, and if the infernal gossip circulating in Hell’s endless, cramped corridors is to be believed, it’s even part of the Great Plan. So why isn’t Aziraphale enjoying it?

It’s not until they meet again in Rome - an accident; Crowley would gladly have avoided the city for the rest of time if he’d had a choice in the matter - that Crowley realises his mistake. Aziraphale invites him for oysters, sits beside him in a little restaurant in a back street and makes utterly sinful noises as he eats them, and Crowley is allowed to stay there, basking in his light, for  _ hours.  _ It’s everything he wanted, and yet it only makes him want more -  _ just a little more, just let me stay. _ And Aziraphale lets him stay, talks to him about everything and nothing until the sun begins to rise and they’re still sitting on a bench outside Petronius’, laughing like old friends.

This is all Crowley has wanted, and as Aziraphale finally takes his leave, he realises that  _ this  _ angel does not like pain and punishment and gruesome spectacles of justice. This angel gave his sword away just when he should have been bringing it down on Crowley; how could he have forgotten that? Aziraphale enjoys humanity’s little quirks, their food and their music and their stories. A gladiator fight would never have earned him a morsel of Aziraphale's time; for once in Crowley's life, he chose the wrong temptation.

It’s not until some time later, when Aziraphale invites him to The Globe to hide among the crowds of what turns out to be a wildly unpopular play, that Crowley realises it’s not his company Aziraphale objected to at all, all those years ago. It’s not that he didn’t want to spend time  _ with Crowley  _ at a gladiator fight; it’s simply that he didn’t want to spend time at a gladiator fight at all, regardless of the company. And once he knows that, Crowley looks at the world with new eyes. He makes  _ Hamlet  _ a success, against all odds, and they see it together again. He invests in museums, in art galleries, in restaurants, and finds reasons to meet Aziraphale there to exchange jobs and information.

He still wants more, still wants to live in a world where he and Aziraphale can spend entire days together, still wants it so much he thinks the longing will tear him apart. And then, all of a sudden, the world is ending, and he spends a full day wooing Aziraphale, trying to win him around to the idea of helping to save humanity. Before he knows what’s happened, he’s the Antichrist’s nanny, and Aziraphale is the gardener, and they don’t get to spend  _ all  _ day together but it’s enough. It’s almost enough. It takes the edge off.

If these are Crowley’s last years on Earth - if these are the last years  _ of  _ Earth - at least he’ll have spent them in the company of the being he loves most in all of Creation.

* * *

“To the world.”

“To the  _ world.” _

Crowley knows they’ve won, but as they continue to celebrate at the Ritz an undercurrent of anxiety begins to creep in again. It’s over; the world is saved. There’s no need for Aziraphale to work so closely with him any more - no need for him to work at all, come to that - and with the bookshop restored, he doesn’t need to stay at Crowley’s, either. Settling the bill brings with it the sort of dread that most  _ humans  _ would probably experience while paying an amount of that magnitude, and then they’re standing outside on the pavement and Crowley wants, he  _ wants… _ he doesn’t want to leave, that’s all. He doesn’t want to go back to his solitary life and see Aziraphale only two or three times a century. He wants more. He wants  _ always. _

“Crowley?” He startles at the sound; his angel is already several feet away, frowning at him.

“Oh. Right. G’bye, then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Aziraphale visibly deflates, and Crowley recognises that same painful, thwarted desire in his eyes. “Of course, if you’ve things to do-”

“No!” Crowley’s never moved so fast, he’s certain of it, and he gathers all his courage to place his hand in Aziraphale’s, holding it loosely, careful to give Aziraphale room to let go. He doesn’t. “I’d like to. Anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, and Crowley has everything he wants.


End file.
